Betty's sea-chest, passenger cushions and tool bag. And an interesting bumper sticker advertising the Athlone Muslim Community (previous owner).
As a sign of defiance against the teenage Zulu "lifeguards" in oversized rashvests we ran to the end of the fishing pier just beyond the break, leapt off and struggled our way ashore amidst the heaving swells, avoiding the barnacly piles along the way.
After an elevenses beer or two in the nocturnal hotspot "Joe Cools" we feasted on Chicken Breyani, dhal (delicious lentil stew) and chicken kharai (a great, oily curry) with plenty of naan in the Copper Chimney right across the road. Durban Injuns at their finest. And for half nothing too (well, lunchtime special).
Back home for a relaxing afternoon's read of Platform by Houellebecq. In the evening Mike's bro and cousin and I went to the nearby VirginActive gym with the my intention of gaining access by feigning interest in gym membership. I eventually had a pleasant but short-lived row on the Concept 2 following a thorough back-office interrogation and promotional spiel from gobshite branch manager Roland "This is the best fucking gym in all of Durban my man, I tell you no lie. The fucking best" McPunjab.
That evening after a feast of lasagne we stayed in and watched the impressive lightening display from the stoep instead of hitting the town for some fancy dancing like we had planned. What a grand storm it was. After some chinwagging with Mike and a showing of "Prince of Persia" on the laptop (which, admittedly, was better than expected. A visual treat.) I dozed off to sleep, ready for my old nemesis the N2 the next morn.
